You Only Love Twice
by Just G
Summary: A HIMYM related story It really is, trust me. Set post series 7. Just something a little different. Forgive the mystery.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters featured. My bank account would back this up._

_A/N: This is just really an experimental story. It may be just a one off or possibly part of something bigger. I hope you enjoy._

_Comments etc greatly appreciated._

**You Only Love Twice**

He stirred slowly. His head was foggy, his vision blurred. With some effort he sat up in the bed. He winced as pain shot up his side. Gingerly he ran his hand along the the right side of his torso. He grimaced at the pain and the memories of the previous night. He closed his eyes, trying his best to focus his mind.

He struggled out of bed, having to place a hand on a nearby wall to steady himself. His naked frame looked deformed in the darkness of the room. He scanned the room, trying to once again familiarise with himself with his surroundings. He noticed the half empty bottle of Haig whisky that sat on the nightstand beside the bed. He lifted the bottle and the glass beside it and poured himself a generous drink. Ordinarily he would have taken his time, slowly sipping the drink and savouring the taste. This time he emptied the glass in one gulp. The whisky burned and sent a jolt through his body. He closed his eyes. Fragments of the fight the night before flashed through his mind. He recalled each blow given and those received in return. But only one thing burned in his mind. Who was the woman?

He considered pouring another drink but decided against it. It would mask the pain but he did not want to dull his senses. He placed the bottle and glass back upon the nightstand. Slowly he made his way to the bathroom and turned on the shower. He stood under the shower for some time, alternating the water between hot and cold, trying to alleviate the pain in his aching muscles. He left the shower and dried off. He inspected the wounds to his body. Nothing more than bruising showed up on his lean physique. The same could not be said for the men he had encountered the previous night. He knew for certain one was no longer. The other he had injured, possibly even left for dead. He did not dwell on it; it was not the first time, nor would it be the last. He inspected his face. It remained largely untouched save for a small nick above his left eye.

He stood in front of the bedroom mirror. He wore a lightweight navy serge single breasted suit; no doubt custom made by a tailor on Savile Row. Underneath his suit jacket he wore a crisp white shirt. A blue silk tie adorned the shirt. Over his shirt he wore a shoulder holster; in it sat his Walther PPK. He picked up his watch, a Rolex and put it on. Despite the struggles of the night before, the watch had luckily remained unscathed. He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His blond hair slicked back, his cold hard features. The clothes, the watch; he could almost pass for a city gent. But he knew the power that lay behind the facade The bankers dealt in stocks and shares, he dealt in danger and death.

Once again his thoughts returned to the mystery woman. He had only caught the merest glimpse of her. He did not even see her face. She was taller than average, maybe 5'7. She had a slim physique and long brown hair. She moved with a subtle grace. He wished he had seen her face. He sensed she was beautiful. He had caught fragments of her voice. Instantly he recognised it as North American; Canadian in fact. Something in the back of his mind triggered at the thought of Canada but it would not surface. He figured it was from one of the west coast states like British Columbia What part did she play in this whole affair. Would he see her again?

* * *

He stepped through the hotel's revolving doors. The heat was instant. He reached into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and retrieved a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses. He did not usually wear them but the bright midday sun made them a necessity. He casually walked to the hotel's valet, spoke a few words of french and handed the young man his ticket. The valet nodded and left with haste. The street was quiet; the scorching heat meant many sought refuge in the nearby bars and cafes. Those who were on the Promenade de la Croisetteambled slowly, partly due to the heat but largely hoping to be noticed whilst they flaunted their wealth. He paid them little heed, unless they were both female and attractive.

He did not admire the people but occasionally he admired their taste in cars. He watched as a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow drove by, followed by a Mercedes Benz 300Sc. His concentration was broken by the familiar engine sound of the Aston Martin DB5. The car pulled up beside him. The now grinning valet left the car and handed him the key.

He entered the casino. He found the opulent surroundings garish. A testimony to wealth but little else. He exchanged one thousand pounds sterling for chips of varying amounts. He noticed a small rotund man in a grey suit eagerly scanning the room. The man subtly made eye contact with each individual croupier, occasionally shaking or nodding his head. With a small gesture he motioned to the casino manager. They exchanged some words in french. The manager proceeded to lead him to one of two Baccarat tables that were in operation. He handed a chip to the manager, who thanked him and departed.

He took his seat at the Baccarat table. Of the five remaining seats, three were taken. He made a quick mental note of each player but none of them were of concern to him. They in turn casually tried to act as though his arrival was of no great note. The croupier stated the limit to which he nodded in acceptance. A waiter approached and asked him if he would like a drink. He requested a Vodka Martini ( sixs part gin, two parts Russian vodka and one part Lillet Blanc. One olive. Shaken and not stirred.) He reached into his suit - it was unusual for him not to be wearing a tuxedo in such an establishment - and retrieved his gun metal cigarette case. He took out a custom made Morland cigarette and lit it.

"Do you mind?" The voice broke him from his musings. The voice. That voice

"I was wondering if I could have a light Mr...?" She left the words hanging in the air.

"Bond. James Bond". He spoke slowly. He stared at her intently. She was even more beautiful than he could have imagined. Her skin radiated health. Her sharp features spoke of class and distinction. Her brown eyes. They left him speechless. He held out his Ronson lighter and lit her cigarette. Her aroma pervaded his nostrils, almost making him dizzy. He knew instantly that he wanted her. He knew that spelt trouble. He was brought back to reality by ….

* * *

"Barney." The familiar voice echoed in his mind. "Barney, are you ok?" This time he came round from his trance like state.

"Uh Robin... Hi, I didn't realise you were there." The dream was gone. In front of him stood the real woman of his dreams, but that's where she had to remain now. His longing had never left. She smiled, still unsure of her friends state.

"Yeah I waved over. I was stood at the bar for five minutes but you were just in another world." He gave a gentle smile trying to reassure her. "Is everything ok? She sat down and placed a hand upon his. "What were you thinking about? You know you can tell me."

"It was no one spec..." He paused, a little flustered. "Um nothing special", he looked down at the table hoping she wouldn't notice the glint in his eye.

(Barney Stinson) **James Bond**

will return in

**The Guy Who Loved Me**


	2. The Guy Who Loved Me

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters featured. Although I have shared their adventures_

_**Title: **The Guy Who Loved Me_

_**Author: **Just G_

_**Rating: **K+_

_**A/N:** A continuation from You Only Love Twice. Hopefully it's not turned out too bad._

He liked to gamble. It suited the cold, calculating side of his psyche. He was a skilled player, who made his own luck. But his luck had been out with her. That rarely happened. When he saw something he wanted, he usually got it. He wasn't used to losing. At anything. He didn't like feeling this way. He didn't like feelings full stop. Feelings got in the way, made things complicated, made a man lose his edge. In his line of work feelings were a luxury. They could easily get you dead. He was cold, sometimes heartless but no one could deny he was good at what he did. He was one of the best.

* * *

He lay in his bed thinking of her. It was no coincidence that they met again at the casino, or was it. He knew she was involved. Not for the first time had their paths crossed. Had she been at the casino by chance or was there another reason. He couldn't be sure. She would have no way of knowing. Or would she. His mind could become clouded when a beautiful woman was involved. They were his achilles heel. He wondered if his enemies knew this. They surely would His mind drifted back to their conversation.

"Bond. James Bond." He held out his lighter to light her cigarette. All the time he was aware that she was sizing him up. But in what way. He did not let his gaze falter. There was something suggestive in her manner. It was reeling him in.

"You play?" Bond asked, motioning to an empty seat.

"Only when the odds are in my favour. I think I'll watch for now Mr Bond." The dealer had dealt the cards. He looked at his hand, the cards were poor. He tried to concentrate on the game but could feel her presence and smell the subtlest hint of her perfume. The other players were deep in concentration. He had placed a small amount of chips down as his wager, fearful of risking anymore with the cards he held. He no longer felt her presence. Casually he glanced over his shoulder and noticed her walking off towards the bar. His male pride was wounded. No matter what he did, he could not get his mind in the game nor chase her from it. He waited patiently for the hand to finish. When it had he took the first opportunity toleave the game, mindful that she may in fact be leaving or have already left the casino.

He addressed the table. "I'm afraid I must bow out gentlemen", he handed the croupier a fifty franc chip as way of apology. "Apologies again", he nodded at his fellow players. His leaving received a mixed response, only one said goodbye, the others merely shrugged. He made a mental note of their faces, hoping the chance would present itself to relieve them of their money at a future time. As he walked away from the table his antagonism towards the men lessened but his anger towards himself grew. Somehow, he had let her get inside his head. It had taken no effort at all. Was she even aware of it or was his mind playing tricks on him. He felt bewitched. He did not like it one bit.

* * *

On approaching the bar he noticed her sat alone, drink in hand. Several men stood close by but he could recognise indecision in their faces. Not one made a move towards her in spite of their desire to do so. Did her beauty intimidate them or was it something else.

"I'm guessing cards are not your strong point Mr Bond?" She had been watching his arrival in the mirror above the bar.

"Sometimes I like to play for fun, sometimes I like to be serious. I was merely killing time", He noticed her lips curl up ever so slightly. He could not decipher the true meaning. "Did the excitement get too much for you?"

"I like to watch sport Mr Bond, not a group of fat old men sat around a table playing cards. Why go to a casino when I could go to a retirement home to see such things."

"So why are you here then?" He was willing to play games if she wanted. But if she was hiding something, sooner or later she would let it slip. They always did.

"Boredom mainly. And they serve drinks." She held up her near empty glass.

"May I?" Bond motioned at a seat close to her. She nodded her assent. He sat down and called the barman, gesturing to the mystery woman's drink and requesting two more.

"You do not strike me as a gin and tonic man Mr Bond."

"I appreciate a fine gin and tonic like I appreciate any fine thing in life Miss - he had never noticed a ring -. He let the words hang in the air and his gaze linger longer than usual. She was not put out by this but took it in her stride.

"Scherbatsky. And yes I'm am a Miss. Very perceptive Mr Bond. "Indeed I have no husband," she held up her ringless left hand. "But I do have a jealous boyfriend." He figured her name was eastern european, most likely Polish or Slavic. It may be something but then again it could be nothing. He would contact London later and have them run a records check. He smiled at her words. A jealous boyfriend or husband was nothing new. Nor was it something to stop him. He viewed women as a perk of his job.

"I'm sure he would be. And does this jealous boyfriend call you by a first name."

"Robin." She smiled softly. "He calls me Robin, that is when he has the time." She didn't look bothered, largely indifferent to the fact. Maybe she was just another beautiful face married to some wealthy businessman. But he sensed, was convinced differently. He studied her again. Her relaxed state only served to highlight her true beauty. He wanted to close his eyes and lock the image away in his mind forever. Her daywear dress undoubtedly came from one of the prestigious fashion houses of Milan or Paris, most likely Chanel he thought. He expected a woman to be well dressed but his interest in female fashion extended no further than whether the garments were on or off. He noted that the small unassuming items of jewellery she wore were in fact each worth more than he could make in a year. The way she carried herself, the clothes and jewellery she wore meant she either came from a moneyed family or her boyfriend, if he existed, was undeniably a wealthy man.

"So he's a busy man?" He wanted to probe further.

"He has many interests. Big and small but I don't bother myself with them." He sensed she was hiding something. Most people would have been convinced but he was too well versed in deception.

"Too busy to take you to dinner perhaps?" She merely scoffed at his question, the implication being all too clear. His expression remained unchanged. "What does he do? If you don't mind me asking."

"No only are you perceptive but persistent too Mr Bond. Is there no end to your charms?" The intention may have been sarcasm but he wasn't so sure. "Property." Her answer came back short and abrupt. She was either becoming bored of the conversation or wanted to change the subject. "Enough about him. What about you."

"Me. I work for a London import/export business. Pretty boring really. Though it can be a real killer. But still, it has its moments."

"Funny, I would never have pictured you for that line of work. You don't look the type."

"Just how do you picture me Robin?" He leant in closer whilst talking, a playful glint in his eye. She sat quietly, almost smiling. He was sure she was about to say something when they were interrupted.

"Miss Scherbatsky. Sorry to interrupt but I have a note for you," a somewhat nervous casino employee handed her a folded piece of paper, nodded then scurried off.

She looked intently at the note, her demeanour remained unchanged. She stood from her seat and reach into her purse to pay her for her drinks."I'll take care of that", his hand touched hers as he did so but she instantly pulled back.

"No that's ok," he noticed a definite change in her tone.

"I insist," he deemed the matter closed. "You can always buy me a drink the next time."

"If you must." She looked at him, there was no great expression on her face and the expected thank you did not arise. Her demeanour clearly said there would be no next time. And with that she turned and left.

He knew the note was the reason for her distress. She tried to hide it but he knew. He watched her leave in the bar's mirror. As she approached the stairs to exit the casino she was met by a tall man who grabbed her arm and spoke in her ear. They both walked outside. For a moment he felt he should follow them but decided against it, after all she went quite willingly. She had distracted him from his real purpose for long enough but deep down something told him she might become a permanent distraction.

He wondered who the man was. Not the boyfriend surely, he just couldn't see it. He tried to focus his mind and sear the man's image in his memory. Six foot three approximately, maybe two hundred pounds. Brown slightly unkempt hair and a generally dishevelled wore an American style suit, apparent for its less tailored cut. The man looked slightly imposing but not dangerous . He tried to focus harder..

* * *

"Stinson...STINSON."

"Uh, yeah," he replied without thought, still shaken by the abrupt end to his dreamings .

"Well do you have the monthly figures or not?"

"Sure, they're right here." Barney fumbled through the papers in front of him.


End file.
